Harry Potter and the World Anew
by Daedalus89
Summary: Harry, Ron and Hermione stumble upon a secret left behind by Dumbledore, which allows them to go back in time and attempt to prevent the Second War. Join the trio as they attempt to wrong the rights of their previous lives and avert total mayhem!
1. Prologue: The Beginning

Harry looked into the fire, and sighed heavily. He, Ron and Hermione had been on the run for most of the last year or so, and the remnants of the Order of the Phoenix had crumbled very quickly after the death of Dumbledore, and the subsequent surprise attack during Bill and Fleur's wedding.

Not much was left now. A couple of months ago, there had still been Neville, along with several unfamiliar faces from the Order, and a pair of Ministry security guards that had escaped the massacre. But they had all been picked off, one by one, every other week.

"Ron, don't do that, please," came Hermione's voice from the far corner of the living room in the old House of Gaunt.

Ron had been playing with the Deluminator again, plunging them all into darkness periodically, and then producing a near-blinding spark. Harry decided now was the time to intervene, lest his two friends began arguing again, as they had done with increasing frequency and venom ever since the wedding.

"Look, you two," he began, then faltered upon seeing the look on Ron's face.

"How did this happen?" Ron wailed.

"Ron, stop it, you're not helping," Hermione said. "We need to figure out what to do."

Even Hermione had become irritable and strangely immune to the misery that the trio slipped in and out of. Ron, however, was perfectly oblivious to this fact, and resumed toying with the Deluminator. However, his hands shook, and the gadget slipped and clattered to the floor.

Several things happened in quick succession.

The lights in the hovel went out for an instant, and then were reproduced in the form of a large, glowing sphere in the center of the room. It began expanding slowly; within a minute, the trio was backed upon against a filthy wall, as the sphere threatened to engulf them.

Inside its fiery depths, they could scarcely make out the image of a desk, and of a window behind it, which seemed awfully familiar to Harry.

"I think it looks a bit like Dumbledore's office. Anyway, there's no way out," Hermione pointed out. "Maybe we should just try going through it?"

"Yeah," came Harry's hoarse reply from an adjacent spot. Although torn between fear of the mysterious object, and a desire to explore its power, his Gryffindor courage won out. There may have been little choice in the matter anyway.

"On three then," began Ron, sounding equally nervous. "One, two – and ..."

Harry, Ron and Hermione had stepped forth. A flash of white light, a whispered oath, and they were transported to another place, far, far away.

Harry felt his feet hit the ground, but was not quite sure as to where he was; the intensity of the light had left him with a sizeable blindspot, and he was loath to strain his eyes for a few seconds.

When he did come to, he realised that they were indeed in Dumbledore's office, which looked like it had not been disturbed since that fateful night almost a whole year ago, thus confirming its inaccessibility to the new authorities at Hogwarts. All the portraits were snoozing gently and a wide array of delicate instruments were scattered about the room.

There was utter silence, as Harry, Ron and Hermione pondered this turn of events.

"Harry, Ron, this has to mean something," Hermione said. "Let's look around."

She approached the window cautiously, as though half expecting to have walked into a kind of trap. Ron, meanwhile, was looking around in a bewildered manner, having never taken the time to look around Dumbledore's exquisite office. Harry, who was all too familiar with his surroundings, simply stared ahead. He could not yet comprehend what had happened, never mind how and why.

Hermione shook them all out of their reverie.

"Come on! We may not have much time," she said.

However, they did not have to search very hard. Harry was studying the items on Dumbledore's desk, and came across a thin envelope, labeled "To HP, RW and HG".

"Hey, I've found something," Harry whispered. "Take a look at this."

The trio huddled around the desk, and proceeded to quickly tear open the envelope, dumping its contents unceremoniously. The parchment therein, however, was blank.

"Specialis Revelio!" Hermione said, pointing her wand at the parchment.

Nothing happened.

"Perfect," Harry snarled. "Just what we need right now. Another one of Dumbledore's stupid riddles."

Hermione, however, was looking thoughtful. Then, slowly, a small smile appeared at the corner of her mouth.

"Think this is funny? Yeah, I know, Dumbledore was a humorous guy!" Ron said darkly, hardly daring to believe the brunette witch next to him could perceive any hilarity in their situation.

"Calm down, you two," Hermione replied. "The parchment is charmed so that only Harry can cast the revealing spell on it. Think about it – Dumbledore must have used some method of secrecy, else anyone who raided his office could've found whatever message it is he left us!"

Harry looked doubtful. But, since he could think of nothing else, there was little to do but appease Hermione on this matter.

He cleared his throat, pointed his wand at the immaculate parchment, and said, a little forcefully:

"Specialis Revelio!"

For an instant, Harry thought that it had failed. However, less than a second had passed, before the parchment started quivering lightly, and revealed a long, slanted handwriting on the pages before them.

As the trio looked on in awe, a flash outside the window caught their eye. Death Eaters (who had run Hogwarts for the past year), were marching towards the vacated castle at an alarming pace, as though aware of the intruders.

"Oh, no!" Hermione cried.

For a moment, it seemed as though time itself had stopped; even more worryingly, it then seemed to have decided to speed up, so that every passing instant was strangely compressed.

"Let's read this letter, see what Dumbledore wanted," Harry said hurriedly.

Hermione snatched the parchment, scanned it briefly, and began to intone:

"Dear Harry, Ron and Hermione,

By the time you three get to read this, it is highly likely that I will have been killed by Severus Snape, and that the Order has crumbled. I have made many mistakes in this war and in many other matters, as well. Therefore, I see it fit to attempt a large-scale rectification. You three will have to trust me once again; however, I am of the belief that my plan has a high chance of working, and of giving you three another shot at a more peaceful life.

"I have been doing extensive research on the matters of propulsion across a space-time spectrum, and have come up with a multitude of theories as to how one can travel across the face of time.

"I cannot say any more here, in case this letter falls into the wrong hands. However, I strongly urge you to follow the instructions outlined in my personal library, which is situated behind my wardrobe. The password of the inner chamber is the last line of the Prophecy.

"Know that, once inside my personal library, you are safe from any sort of attack, as neither Death Eaters nor Voldemort himself can breach the magic I have sealed it with. Good luck, and hurry. We may not have much time.

Yours truly,

Albus Dumbledore" she finished.

Harry sat there, stunned.

How could Dumbledore ask for his trust again? There was little time to ponder this turn of events, as several explosions rocked the castle, causing Harry to temporarily lose his balance. The three then decided to make haste to Dumbledore's wardrobe.

Although there had not been much time to look around Dumbledore's private quarters, Harry caught a glimpse of a magnificent four-poster bed in one corner, in Gryffindor colours, an exquisite Axminster by the fireplace, and lavish furnishings in virtually every open space in the room. Before he could take in any of these things, however, he was being prodded by Ron for the password.

"Come on mate, we don't want You-Know-Who's goons to catch up with us," he said.

"Right, right," Harry murmured. Looking at the wardrobe, he then whispered: "For neither can live while the other survives."

For the second time that night, Harry had been sure that he had failed, that the letter from Dumbledore had been a hoax, or a trap set by someone else. And for the second time, he was wrong.

The wardrobe glowed an ominous blue, before sinking into the wall, in order to allow barely enough space for a human figure to fit through into the chamber beyond. Hermione went in first, followed by Ron, and finally Harry. As though on command, it sealed itself shut just as the latter had stepped in.

Once in the library, Harry realised that all outside noise had been sealed, and that the secret room had a very serene air to it, as though it knew none of the concerns of the outer world, where Voldemort ruled unopposed, and Muggles and Muggle-borns were being murdered everyday.

A brief glance into the room painted a very modest picture when compared to Dumbledore's private quarters. The "personal" library was made up of only one room, consisting of little more than a desk (upon which a Pensieve had been rather obviously placed) and a single shelf of books, which looked as though it housed no more than twenty volumes.

"Right. I'm thinking that Dumbledore would have wanted us to study whatever is in this Pensieve very carefully," Hermione said.

Harry agreed, and approached the table cautiously, thoughts of an ambush still lingering at the forefront of his mind.

Ron was looking strangely serene, as though impervious to Harry's nervousness and Hermione's frantic logic. Upon sensing this newfound attention from his companions, he said:

"Look, we're safe here, for the first time in more than a year, and Dumbledore's telling us he's got a plan. Let's not scare ourselves half to death, and then panic and do something stupid, OK?"

Both Harry and Hermione were surprised. Ordinarily, it had been Ron who would complain and become impulsive when faced with danger. Perhaps it was because Ron still regarded their late Headmaster as infallible, or because he had finally been given some semblance of a goal, that was the source of this newfound inner peace.

_Long may it last_, Harry and Hermione thought simultaneously.

Harry approached the Pensieve, and looked into its depths. The contents looked the same as always, neither liquid nor gas, swirling about haphazardly, offering split-second glances as to their contents. Sensing nothing wrong with this, Harry said: "On the count of three again. One. Two. Three"

Harry felt himself being sucked into the Pensieve, whirling through a storm of colours. Barely a second later, he landed on his feet in the midst of the library which he had just left. Glancing to his side, he noticed Ron and Hermione looking just as perplexed as him. Before he could utter anything, Dumbledore walked in through the same gap which the trio had used not a minute ago. The Headmaster, Harry noticed, sported the blackened arm and looked as old as ever, making the memory relatively recent.

Dumbledore sat down and looked straight ahead. He began talking in a fast, rehearsed tone.

"Harry, Ron, Hermione, I hope this message finds you well. For a long time now, I have realised that I will either be killed by my friend Severus, so that he may continue to spy on Voldemort, or die due to the injuries in my right hand.

"As such, I have begun researching a way to repeat the war and make the correct decisions. And I have found a way."

Here, Dumbledore bowed his head as though in prayer; Harry knew that this was his way of collecting his thoughts. He took a deep breath before continuing:

"I am intending to send the three of you back in time. Rather, I will be sending your magical signatures, complete with memories and your current consciousness, to the past to inhabit your eleven year old bodies and change the course of the war as you grow up."

"I would have gladly done this to myself, or some other Order members. But in order for this to work, the signature must be less than twenty years old; beyond that, chances of success decrease dramatically. You three, of course, I trust more than I can express in this mere memory."

Here Dumbledore stopped again, drawing a collective sigh as he did so. Before long, he started talking again. Harry, however, began to tune him out as the Headmaster explained the exact mechanism (he could see Hermione's brain working furiously) and the manner in which three people should be sent, both for the emotional integrity of all involved, and for a greater ability to think with good reasoning in the future. At the next silence, Harry drew himself together to listen to what he knew would be Dumbledore's concluding spiel.

"And so, I leave you to send yourselves back. I have detailed the relatively facile process in the book on my shelf, called Magical Transport across an ST Spectrum. Before I take my leave, let me tell the three of you how proud I am of you. It is because of you that the world will get another chance at redemption, and countless millions will live because you made the right choice."

On that note, Dumbledore swept his tall hat off his head, took a bow in their imaginary direction, and departed.

Harry felt himself being pulled out of the Pensieve.

It was surreal to look around the room which they had apparently just left,

knowing that within an hour, they would be hurtling across time, back to where

it all began, or else floating about in limbo for the rest of eternity.

Supposing it even worked, he reminded himself.

"Alright. Let's get to work," Hermione said.

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "This place is giving me the creeps."

Harry ambled to the book in question, pulling it gently off its shelf, as though afraid of losing the only hope of stopping Voldemort. He then delivered it to Hermione, who, by default, would decipher all of the important instructions and delegate the simpler tasks to Harry and Ron.

Harry found that he could still not fully comprehend the magnitude of what they were about to attempt, but also recognised that he had excruciatingly little choice in the matter, thus rendering his own opinion of their current operations rather useless. He figured that the easiest thing to do would be to give Dumbledore the trust he had asked for just one final time.

With nary a hasty shuffle and a scraping chair, they sat down to work to save the world.

"Alright," Harry started. "Let's go through the motions just this one more time, please."

"Well. We start by enchanting the Pensieve to strip magical signatures from physical bodies," Ron began earnestly. "Then we apply three drops of the potion Dumbledore left us in the book ..."

"... which serve to propagate said signatures backwards in time," Hermione supplied.

"And the three drops are repeated before every member goes into the Pensieve," Harry finished rather more nervously than he had anticipated.

It had been several hours since they had set to work, and although there were only two steps that needed to be followed, and a set of instructions as to what to do once back in time, the trio ran over the situation meticulously, so as to ensure maximum focus on the problem.

Harry and Ron were looking over the last letter by Dumbledore (addressed to them, and found at the relevant section of his book) which talked about what was in store for them once they had arrived back in time. It read:

_Once you are transported to the past, your signatures will exit through this Pensieve (my personal one), which will be located in my office; from there, you can guide your own signatures onto your eleven year old bodies. A full merger can be expected immediately, and without major problems. Long-term effects include a mild form of amnesia, and momentary confusion during early morning hours. Other than that, however, I anticipate no physical symptoms. Your own psychological well-being, of course, is also highly important, which is why I suggest you three support each other as much as possible, and avoid interfering too much._

_Interference is another topic on which I wish to instruct you here. By being completely passive, the timeline in your newfound world will mimic the one in this. Therefore, it is advisable that you act as you remember yourselves acting at the corresponding ages. However, be advised that it would be wise to alter some stances which could prevent the development of negative events (such as Quirrel attempting to Steal the Stone) if you can do so without raising suspicion. It is imperative that no-one know of your time-travel, not even myself. _

_Harry – make every attempt to keep a low profile during your early years; do not use your foreknowledge excessively, as this will alter the new timeline to a state where you may no longer be able to predict events. Make sure to capture Pettigrew in your third year, and do not fall for Voldemort's attempts to hoodwink you in the future. Build relationships with those around you, and act as a figurehead and a role model for those who will come to Hogwarts after you. And enjoy your Quidditch as much as you did the first time around!_

_Ronald – make sure that Harry stays true to his goals, and that your own family does not endure the pain inflicted by the Second War, or the Chamber of Secrets. It is a huge burden to place on anybody, but your courageous and loyal nature has me convinced that you are capable of acting as the dynamo that keeps the three of you going, and that will ultimately save the world!_

_Hermione – I would very much like you to ponder causality, and all of the temporal paradoxes associated with time travel. In this way, you will know what to avoid and which events to allow to pass without interference. And, just as you have the first time, make sure that your intellect serves as a guide to your companions, and to those around you who may one day be able to fight against injustice._

_I now leave you to send yourselves back with only one more note. Upon entering the Pensieve, your current bodies will vanish magically, thus entering into nothingness, or in everything. As such, you will not necessarily have committed suicide in order to go back in time; you will merely have evaporated your current substance in order to travel in an unconventional manner. I thought that his would ease one of the many burdens that you will have to endure from hereon in. _

_The best of luck to you three._

_AD._

"Brilliant, but barmy," said Ron.

"Yeah. Good instructions though; I don't even know what causality is!" Harry replied.

"I know, mate. It's right funny, in a weird way. You done with the notes yet, 'Mione?"

"Yes," came her reply. "I'm just left wondering about the problems we could encounter. I mean, amnesia! That could ..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," said Ron impatiently. "We could feel a little iffy upon return! Now can we go through with this? It can't be any worse where we're going than it is here!"

Harry could see another conflict brewing here, so he decided to intervene.

"Alright, stop, just stop!" he ordered, as Hermione was opening her mouth for another volley of words at Ron. "We've enough on our plates without you two bickering."

To his surprise, both had the grace to look a bit sheepish.

"Oh. Sorry Hermione. You were saying..." said Ron, with genuine interest.

"It's really not that much. Simply that we might wake up some days and act like eleven year olds for a couple of hours, or else have a fit during class, and forget bits and pieces. We'll just have to be careful, that's all."

"Alright. Now, let's plan for how to get in touch when we get there," said Harry.

"IF we get there ..." started Ron, but quelled under Hermione's outraged glare.

"Yes Ron, IF we get there," Harry agreed darkly.

"Well, what would the date of our arrival be?" asked Ron.

"August fifteenth," Hermione replied instantly, glancing at the tome in front of her to double check Dumbledore's calculations.

"But it doesn't matter. Maybe we should just head for the Leaky Cauldron if we already have wands and everything," Harry suggested.

"That would be dodgy. Three midgets walk into a pub. Sounds like a cheap joke!" Ron said in mock indignation.

Amazingly, this was met with laughter. The first real laugh Harry had uttered in more than a month. Perhaps it was the beginning of something better, or else a last joke shared amongst lifetime friends.

"Yes, actually," Hermione said thoughtfully. "So long as we don't walk in at the very same time, and meet out in the back by the dustbins, we should be fine."

"Yeah," Harry supplied. "Let's just make sure not to be missed at home or something. Can we all make up excuses or pretend to visit friends on our first day back?"

"Sounds like an easy job for me. Are we agreed then?" Ron asked tentatively, as though suddenly afraid.

"Yes," Harry and Hermione said in unison.

The rest of the time was spent planning minor details of pre-Hogwarts excursions, but all of it done halfheartedly, as though nobody wanted to get their hopes up.

Before long, however, the time had come to enchant the Pensieve. The task was complex, and thus delegated to Hermione, while Harry and Ron sat and silently pondered the implications of time travel, and potentially, and impending death.

Harry found thinking about the possibility of dying within a few minutes somewhat overwhelming. Suddenly, his mind was working overtime, and his senses had started registering every minute detail in the spartan chamber, and flooding his already numb brain with useless stimuli. He could hear his heart hammering in his chest, and the blood rushing to his head and every extremity, in the hope of prolonging life. Ironic it was that now, perhaps more than ever, Harry's life was no longer in his hands.

He started shuddering occasionally, in short violent spasms. Next to him, Ron appeared to be undergoing the same mental processes, as he, too, was involuntarily twitching at random intervals.

But soon (far too soon, in Harry's mind), Hermione was calling them forward. Ron would be the first in the Pensieve, they had decided earlier.

Harry watched on as Hermione carefully measured out three drops from the small vial Dumbledore had left behind. One moment, Ron was talking to them, eyes darting between Harry and Hermione frantically, as though the inescapable reality had dawned on him. Then he took turns in hugging them and whispered something in Harry's ear.

Harry, however, was oddly detached and unfeeling by this time. He was very afraid, and understandingly anxious as to what the future held (or was it the past?), if anything.

And then Ron was leaning over the Pensieve, knees slightly bent, clutching the desk tightly as though reticent. He lowered his face and broke the surface of the substance therein. Without so much as a slight pop, Ronald Weasley vanished from the face of the Earth.

Hermione was talking fast now. Harry was not hearing. Slowly, she shook the vial before his eyes, and asked him something uncertainly. Then, as though through a mere desire to be there for Hermione as she prepared for her journey, Harry forced his mind back into the present, where it was once again flooded full of light and sound.

"Yeah, Harry? Three drops, right?" she was reminding him.

"What? Yes, yes. I know," he replied unsteadily.

"OK then. I'll see you ... in a bit. Wherever it is that you inhabit your body, make for Diagon Alley the very next day. We'll start from there."

"Yes. Yes, I know," he said again.

"OK," she whispered fearfully, getting up on her toes as she did so and giving Harry a quick kiss on the cheek. "We'll be alright. I know it."

Apparently, Hermione had run out of things to say. She turned around, fighting back tears, and walked to the Pensieve. She stared into its depths for a full minute, contemplating the magnitude of what they were about to attempt, the consequences of failure, and the psychological implications of living the same life twice.

But there was no reassurance to be found. There were only more questions. With that final thought, Hermione took the plunge and was immediately consumed by the Pensieve.

Harry was alone. Suddenly, he was serene once more. Recognising this as a mere stage in a larger cycle of emotions, he quickly uncorked the vial and poured out a careful measure of three drops. As instructed, he then smashed the bottle, so as to make sure that no unwanted visitors from the future would come back to haunt him.

He licked his painfully parched lips. He was now acutely aware that he had been unable to go to the restroom for six or seven hours, creating an unpleasant pressure in his lower abdomen. He also realised that he was hungry, thirsty and sleepy.

Well, this is not how I imagined tonight would turn out, he thought dryly.

Knowing there was precious little time to linger, and that Ron might already have been inside his eleven year old body, Harry decided that it was time to get going, and meet whatever he would have to face, as Hagrid had always told him, up until their final days together six or seven months ago.

Thinking of all the people that had died at the hands of Voldemort and his Death Eaters, Harry made a pledge to stop it from happening and to kill the Dark Lord at any cost. He began to understand full well the concept of the "greater good" that had nearly caused Dumbledore to turn dark. And maybe even that was not too high a price in exchange for all the lives that may yet be saved!

With this fiery promise of retribution, Harry strode forward purposefully, barely pausing to look around him. In another second, he would be gone.

And before even that instant was up, Harry had driven his face into the Pensieve, splashing its contents on the table. He felt himself being sucked in, and suddenly wished he had taken a deeper breath.

For the third time that night, Harry was sure that failure was at hand, and that he was going to die in the senseless depths of time.


	2. Chapter I: Warm Welcome

Chapter I: A cold, cold welcome.

Harry was suffocating. He was sentient, and lost in time. He felt his consciousness being pushed and pulled about in a kaleidoscope of colours, with no seeming direction or purpose. After an indeterminate amount of time, however, he was released from this state, and came upon the realisation that he was hovering above Dumbledore's Pensieve. The latter looked up momentarily and frowned, before returning to his paperwork.

It worked! Harry thought to himself triumphantly.

Moreover, he noticed that he was able to move merely by thinking and without any obstruction from natural barriers such as walls or doors. Quickly, he made his way out of Dumbledore's office through the window, and began to hover towards Hogsmeade, where he would follow the railroad tracks all the way back to London, as had been decided.

Harry enjoyed this journey immensely. It was very much like flying his Firebolt, but without any semblance of weight or air resistance. In fact, his trip seemed to last for only several minutes, leading Harry to wonder whether or not time was still being compressed at random points. However, he did not feel any interruption in his pace as he flew towards Privet Drive, in a desperate quest to unite with his body and his mind.

Indeed, it was not long before he lowered his altitude as he spotted London, and subsequently directed himself towards Surrey, where he knew that another Harry Potter awaited. And every mile he flew closer to himself, Harry could feel the exhilaration of his possibilities draw nearer.

To Harry's surprise, when he cast his view upon Number 4 Privet Drive, he saw not a house, but simply an overwhelming glow emanating from within. Deciding to investigate this, he darted towards the house slowly, until he realised that he was no longer in control of his own motion, and that his substance, for lack of a better word, was being inexplicably drawn to the bright light. No matter how hard Harry fought against this force, he would not cease his worrying approach towards it.

It was not until Harry noticed that the glow appeared to take the shape of his sleeping silhouette that he made up his mind to allow nature to take its course, and unify his mind and body. He was barely aware of passing through the roof of Number 4, and of the intense radiance that flared out just as his leading edge was moulded into his prone form.

Without a discernable sound or motion, the metaphysical particle that Harry had inhabited became one with his eleven-year-old physiology. The sleeping Boy-Who-Lived, however, did not stir, nor cease to dream, and just kept resting until the morning light.

***

At seven AM precisely, Harry awoke with a start. He was trying to remember his dream. It had been about a flying motorcycle, but then had switched rather abruptly to one about a future ... man? With memories of wars and a magical school? Hogwarts! The man had gone to Hogwarts, then. But if only Harry could remember who the man had been, he was sure he'd stumble across whatever was eluding him in his mind.

Had it been his father? No, that couldn't have been it.

"Wait a minute!" Harry nearly screamed. "That wasn't my father! That was me. But, how? Memories, wars. Memories, wars."

And so it went for the better part of an hour, until Harry recalled something about Diagon Alley in his dreams, which in turn led him to remember that he had promised to meet Hermione and Ron. With that revelation in place, he finally figured out that he had been the future self, and all the memories came flooding back.

Less than a full minute later, Harry was dressed and ready to head to London, eager to meet his companions. He was still shaking his head about the massive amount of time it had taken him to recollect all of his memories, and bring them to the forefront of his mind as he applied Glamour Charms to himself. If Hermione was to be believed, none of them had had the Trace applied to them yet, thus rendering the Ministry completely ignorant of any magic they may have cast. He only hoped that the others had thought to alter their appearance, as this had not been discussed beforehand; regardless, Harry figured, this should not be the cause of excessive worry on his part.

So, the Boy-Who-Lived walked out of Privet Drive, with a copious number of spells on him, whose overall effect was to lend him a passable resemblance to that of a young Hugh Laurie. He was clad in Dudley's old jumper, and a pair of baggy jeans, along with his ancient second-hand trainers (also inherited from Dudley). He made his way carefully across the street, tucking his wand under his belt as he went, and signalling for the Knight Bus.

Harry gave a loud gasp when he set eyes upon the conductor. Although the young man introduced himself as Stan Shunpike, he was tall, well-spoken and thoroughly-groomed, a far cry from the lad who had shown nothing but sloppy treatment of his customers in another lifetime.

The trip to Diagon Alley, for which Harry paid his last remaining Sickles from his previous trip to the Alley with Hagrid, was uneventful, but fraught with insecurities as to what awaited on the other side of the barrier between Muggles and Wizardkind. What if Stan Shunpike was not the only changed factor? What if Harry had landed in an alternate universe where he was not even famous and not to be given a shot at avoiding all-out war? What if so many things had changed that he would be rendered inept and confused as a result of his supposed foreknowledge? Or what if, by some cruel twist of fate, he had actually died in his trip back to the past, and condemned to a world in which he was forced to see those he loved perish once again, as he had over the past year? Or perhaps he was simply barred from changing the future by the laws of causality, and the same reaction would meet any given action in every instance.

Harry wished he had had more time to think over all of these things. But the previous night had left him no choice – everything had occurred at breakneck pace, rendering the trio unable to contemplate any alternatives to the plan Dumbledore had set forth. He resolved to ask Hermione about his concerns.

"I'm no good at pondering these things any damn way," Harry murmured.

"Ah, don't worry, Sir. I myself endeavour to think that all things sort themselves out with enough time. Your stop is next, by the way," Stan informed him.

"Thank you," replied Harry, as he made to get up and amble to the door of the bus.

His progress was impeded by Stan, who made to grab his shoulder, thought the better of it, and simply moved in front of him and asked, "Are you sure you're feeling alright, Sir? I could take you to St. Mungo's if you wish - "

"What? No! Yeah, I'm fine," Harry said distractedly.

He was somewhat disturbed by Stan's newfound sensitivity as to his passengers' wellbeing, especially since he vividly remembered the conductor's indifference towards an extremely sick passenger in Harry's third year.

"Alright, if you say so," Stan replied uncertainly. Then he shouted, "Next stop, Diagon Alley. Diagon Alley, everyone!"

Harry rushed off the Knight Bus, glad to be rid of his first enigma in this new past.

Upon exiting, he surveyed his surroundings, and made a beeline for the Leaky Cauldron. Once inside, he skulked over to the back door, in the hope of avoiding any more questions as to his health. Miraculously, he went by unnoticed and nonchalantly waited for the witches in front of him to vacate the area around the dustbins, before he made his way out to the little courtyard.

Before Harry had even had a chance to look around properly, he was accosted by two figures, whose poise and posture he immediately recognised as belonging Ron and Hermione. The brunette witch (still a brunette witch in disguise) cried out with joy at seeing him alive and well, while the owner of a short, stocky, dark frame (presumably Ron) was bouncing up and down in relief.

"You're late!" he barked. "We've been waiting on you for _ages_."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't wake until seven, and needed a full hour to find my memories," Harry said, genuinely worried as to why he had taken so long to remember his condition, while his friends had apparently not encountered such difficulties. "I'm glad you guys figured out the Glamour Charms! How did you make it here?"

"Ron got here first, and I came no later than ten minutes after he did," Hermione informed. "But we're glad that we all made it in one piece, with our minds intact, _and _having thought to apply disguises!"

"Yeah," said Ron awkwardly, "how about we go someplace where we won't be overheard by anyone who cares to listen?"

Harry actually snorted. "Yeah, like anyone would believe us even if we told them who we were and where we were from!" he joked.

"Harry," Hermione began sternly, before Harry cut her off.

"I know, I know, I shouldn't joke around, else I might violate some major laws that would destroy everything. I know."

"Enough of this," Ron said with frustration. "Let's be off someplace."

Harry, Ron and Hermione wandered aimlessly for a short while, enjoying the Diagon Alley that they had once known – bustling, happy and safe. But all three knew that there was an important conversation to be had about their future plans, and so decided to stop at The Wand and Mettle, a small pub off one of the major arteries of the Alley. Taking a booth in a far corner, and paying for three Butterbeers (this time with the last of Hermione's wizard coins), they hunched over to plot their next moves.

"I've been thinking one of the first stops," said Harry, "will be Gringotts. I have to make nice-nice with the Goblins, and take obscene amounts of money out of my vault. For some reason, everyone neglected to tell me that my actual account was only an atrium to the Potter family vault!"

"All the things we found out in our year of independence," reminisced Ron. "So many things could've been better planned. Like..."

"Nevermind about what we could've done!" Hermione said hotly. "Let's try to focus on this year, and take it a few months at a time, OK?"

"I agree," shot Harry, casting an annoyed look at Ron. "We didn't go through all this just to regret what could've happened in another timeline."

"OK. Fair enough," said Ron, in an attempt to placate the other two.

It was highly unusual to see Hermione overreacting in such a way to the merest of Ron's implications about prior failures. But it was testament to how united the three were, that despite their exhaustion and psychological strain, they managed to put Ron's gaffe behind them with so little brouhaha. However, they did manage to drift off on a tangent depicting the obvious difficulties of retrieving Harry's money whilst under heavy disguise. Consequently, Harry changed his approach.

"Now," Harry started again, "my _very _first point of business is about the esteemed Professor Quirrel. What to do?"

"Well," replied Hermione, "there's not much we can do about Voldemort in the back of his head. Dumbledore had always said that Quirrel was a dead man as soon as he fused with Voldemort."

"Yeah, but how do we know that one of them isn't casting Legilimency on us, and seeing all our rather, um, delicate memories?" asked Ron concernedly.

The situation was not grave, however, judging by Hermione's self-satisfied smile that shone briefly, before she launched into explanation:

"Ah. That would be a problem, except for the fact that our physical memories, or the ones that can be found in our head, are only the collective experiences that we have already had in this timeline, and the ones we have had since last night, and nothing from the old future!"

"How do you mean?" asked Ron.

"What she means," Harry explained, trying to fully cotton on, "is that the only things that can be found in our heads are what we've already done in this timeline before we fused with ourselves, and whatever it is that we're experiencing right now."

"Correct," smiled Hermione. "but there's more. I ask you: where do we store our old memories, and why is it that we can retrieve them from there?"

Harry and Ron both looked completely dumbfounded.

"Uh," began Harry intelligently, "I suppose that we can just recall them randomly because they're combined with our magic."

Hermione looked impressed. Ron was looking at him as though he had never quite seen his best friend before.

"That's as far as I got Harry!" she told him with an air of mild frustration. "But from that, I can infer that our signatures are naturally imbedded in our minds, in a place inaccessible via Legilimency. Isn't it fascinating?"

"OK, hang on a sec," blurted out Ron. "Hermione answered my question a while ago. Now, as bloody mesmerizing as this may be, don't we have more pressing issues?"

Harry was slightly relieved that he had averted one of Hermione's theoretical discussions, even though he knew that they may one day need to understand all of the factors the conversation implied, or suggested. Hermione just looked as though Christmas had been cancelled, and the Hogwarts Library looted.

"Righto," said Ron, oblivious to the tension in their situation. "So we've solved Quirrel. We'll just figure out a way to intercept him closer to the end of the year."

"Unless we observe drastic changes in character," countered Hermione.

"Yes," agreed Harry. "How are we going to pass the time? I mean, schoolwork is going to be very easy, but we're going to have to be seen studying. What do we occupy ourselves with?"

"How about defensive hexes and the like? We can always prepare ourselves for the future, and for a new version of the DA," said Hermione.

"I think that a little bit of spying wouldn't hurt," said Ron. "We could also form a better idea of the new timeline, and the small changes we see in people around us, to come up with a better strategy."

It was astounding to Harry that Ron could occasionally come up with such deep commentary on serious issues; even more so when Ron added-

"...and let's face it. Quidditch is going to be so much better this time around!"

***

Around an hour later, the trio stepped out of The Wand and Mettle, complete with an approximate strategy and a very large shopping list of school supplies and other Dark Detectors, and things that they had learned to live with during their year of isolation and being chased halfway across the continent by Voldemort.

As promised, their first stop was Gringotts. To Harry's relief, they were greeted by a goblin other than Griphook (Harry thought his name was Ragnok, but could not be sure) who did not ask questions about unknown countenance and obviously false identities.

But, instead of simply taking large amounts of gold out of his vault, and risk losing it to circumstance or thievery, and attract even more attention, Harry simply asked to have a wizarding credit card, called a Gold Reserve Card, made in his name, so that he could make purchases without fumbling through a small fortune in each and every shop.

Harry told the Goblins that he was in fact a representative of Mr. Potter, who wished to do business with Gringotts at several points in the future, and would thus need a reliable way of getting his hands on his gold, and quickly. The goblins looked impressed about the Boy-Who-Lived and his willingness to do business with a race that was generally looked down upon by Wizards. Of course, another important reason Harry wanted a Gold Reserve Card was to never have to go down to his vault in disguise, and risk being uncovered as an impostor by the keepers of his finances.

It took up less than a half hour to put all of his affairs in order, and to make all the fiscal pleasantries that Goblins favoured. The transaction relieved Harry enormously, as he had managed to accomplish one of his most nagging priorities with regard to the new timeline. It was also a good sign that the goblins seemed to trust the Hugh-Laurie-lookalike, and made promises of more interaction in future, hopefully with Mr. Potter in person!

By the time the friends had left Gringotts, Harry was sporting a genuine grin, having knowingly made a positive impact on the keepers of his gold.

_With a little luck, _he thought_, they might be more helpful towards wizards this time. Provided I put Ludo Bagman in a deep, dark hole._

The trio proceeded to raid every major shop in Diagon Alley; Hermione and Ron bought bits and bobs which they would eventually have come to enjoy in this timeline (in Ron's case, this was translated into plenty of sweets). Harry bought himself a brand new trunk, much like the one that impostor-Moody had owned, but with only four compartments, one of which was the size of a small basement.

After all of their "innocent" shopping had been done, Harry squeezed into an empty restroom and proceeded to place a dozen charms on his clothing, in order to look somewhat more professional; some of the books he was interested in purchasing contained advanced magic that would attract the attention of any vendor. Hence, a casual chap in baggy jeans, who looked no more than twenty-five, could not be seen buying them.

It was with no small amount of relief that Harry sighed after he realised for a second time that Hermione had indeed been right in implying that the Trace had not yet been placed upon them, seeing as they had not yet attended Hogwarts, and thus could cast no magic in this timeline.

Upon walking out of the restroom, he met up with Ron and Hermione, who were sporting the same outfit they had before, and did not sport the aura of caring for the items they were about to purchase.

"Just one thing Harry," Hermione said. "Shrink your trunk now and expand it when you get home – I don't wanna carry these sensitive books along with a trunk and who knows how many other things!"

"Good idea," commended Ron. "You know the charm right?"

Hermione merely looked at him, askance.

She appeared to take offence at the fact that Ron was questioning her magical ability after years and years of relying on her for homework and practicality. With nary a huff, they entered the store and began browsing casually.

It took the three of them a total of two hours to pick up all of the tomes that they felt they needed for a full semester. A lot of the books were about fighting the Dark Arts, and many more on advanced defensive magic. They had also bought a couple of volumes on the topic of theoretical time travel (which were high priority, considering their condition), which they hoped would warn them of any problems of causality that they might encounter, or tell them whether they had landed in an alternate universe, comprised of small, mutually-exclusive differences from the original timeline.

Upon completing this, Ron informed Harry and Hermione that he was extremely hungry.

"Yes, we'll go eat in a little bit," said Harry, thinking hard. "But the last thing we have to do is buy a Pensieve. There are some thing's I'd like to store in one."

"Oooh," said Hermione. "That would be helpful."

They went to a specialised shop very near The Wand and Mettle, called Mystical Artifacts of Magick. Apparently, it was one of the first shops to do business in Diagon Alley, after Ollivander's. Harry wondered how he had never even heard about it in the first timeline. The trio decided that Harry should go inside alone.

As he entered, Harry was greeted by a jovial young man, with hawkish eyes that bore a striking resemblance to Madam Hooch.

"Hi," said Harry uncertainly. "I'm looking to buy a Pensieve. I was wondering if you might have anything interesting."

"Oh," said the shopkeeper, quite obviously recognising Harry as a unique customer. "I'll have to get the owner for a transaction like that. Just a minute, please."

He turned around, and ascended the stairs quickly, as though excited by the news that somebody wanted to buy a Pensieve. It was a full minute before Harry heard noises from above, and knew the owner was about to appear.

Harry was not prepared, however, for the identity of the owner, who was none other than Albus Dumbledore.

"Good afternoon," said the Headmaster pleasantly. "I heard that you would like to inquire as to the price of a Pensieve. I must warn you, however, that they are not cheap."

"I quite understand," said Harry nervously, counting his blessings since he had thought to give himself a look that implied a professional demeanour, and spoke nothing of his true physical features, lest he be recognised by the sheer power of observation he knew Dumbledore to possess.

"Well, we do not currently have one in stock, but you can leave a small fee with us now, and we shall have it in by December. I'm terribly sorry for the wait, but Pensieves are hard to come by," said Dumbledore.

"Yes, yes. How much might this fee be?" Harry inquired.

"Ten galleons," replied Dumbledore. "The whole Pensieve is 985 galleons; but I suppose we could haggle a little bit here and there!"

Harry had a very hard time believing that Dumbledore would try to rip him off, yet could not understand the man's apparent glee at the impending barter over a rare magical object. So he merely paid his deposit, and left the shop without a backwards glance, quickly vacating the area with Ron and Hermione confusedly in tow.

***

"Wait a sec," interrupted Ron for what seemed like the umpteenth time, fork suspended halfway between plate and mouth, looking utterly flabbergasted.

"_Yes_ Ron, we decided we have no idea whether or not Dumbledore owned such a shop in the original timeline," said Hermione impatiently.

"Shhhh. Hermione, it's not that I don't trust you, but a couple of privacy charm doesn't mean you can shout around about the original timeline," Harry whispered nervously.

"Yeah Hermione," began Ron, eager to turn the tide of the conversation into an offence on Hermione's occasional outburst of impatience. "How would you feel if all this went to hell 'cause of your short temper!"

"Oh _ha ha ha_."

Harry sighed, only vaguely listening to Ron and Hermione's playful banter. They had all observed the subtlest of divergences from the previous universe; however, they did not know whether this was due to an excessive tendency to be over-analytic due to an ingrained fear of change, or due to real, observable phenomena. Whilst Hermione had preached a message of versatility when Harry had confided in them at the start of the meal, and Ron had looked supremely unconcerned, Harry was worried. Was his foreknowledge already useless? Were these differences mere indicators of a potential for differentiation on a large scale? And how –

"Harry, are you listening?"

"Wha', yea', I mean ... what?" he asked intelligently.

"We should get a move-on, else we'll be missed at home," Hermione said. "Ron's parents are going to be expecting him from the Lovegoods' very soon, and mine will pick me up at the mall in fifteen minutes! And we still have to remove the Glamour Charms from ourselves."

"Oh bugger." Harry replied. He had neglected to inform the Dursleys' of his absence that day.

_This is going to be fun_ he thought.

***

An hour later, Harry strode purposefully across the manicured lawn of Number 4, Privet Drive and knocked politely on the door. Darkness had already set in, and the Dursleys had always stressed that he be home before nightfall.

Almost instantaneously, Uncle Vernon threw open the door, and flung Harry inside the house rather bodily.

"Where have you been, boy?" he hissed.

"Um, I was, uh, out. With friends," replied Harry evenly.

_Big mistake, _he thought to himself. Harry had never had any friends at this point in the timeline.

"Hmph. Fine. Go upstairs, and don't let me catch you down here again tonight," Uncle Vernon muttered, as though afraid of pressing the subject.

Just as Harry was climbing up the stairs, he could have sworn that he heard Aunt Petunia's voice intone something about how the neighbours would surely remark upon Harry's extended absence.

_Some things never change,_ he thought with a smirk.

***

Harry worked furiously for a few hours, unshrinking his trunk, and fitting all of his belongings inside of it, ready to fly away at a moment's notice. He created a system where he used one full room in his trunk as a mini library, another for his clothing and such, one for his Dark detectors, and a last, miscellaneous space.

Harry lay awake for many hours that night, if only to savour his contentment at the way things had turned out.

_Sure, there's a small change here and there, _he thought, _but I'm alive and well, as are my friends, and we're getting ready for a new life_.

He still could not believe that a mere twenty four hours ago, he had been in another reality, where Death Eaters had been hot on his tracks, perhaps even knowing that he was on the other side of the impenetrable gargoyle that had guarded Dumbledore's office so faithfully for so long.

Harry gave the (other) deceased Dumbledore in the other world a quiet word of thanks for the new lease on life, which he knew would be almost as difficult as the first one, since he was already acutely aware of the consequences of failure. But if Dumbledore had taught Harry anything at all, it was that facing challenges with an unabashed willingness to fight for an outcome made all the difference in the world. And maybe, just maybe, he would be able to exert a similar influence on another at some point.

With that pleasant thought, he turned over, in an attempt to go to sleep. He found that there was one more depth he needed to plumb before bed, however – namely that of Ginny. The name itself brought forth inescapable fear at the possibility of losing her again; he remember the first time all too well, when she was reported missing a month after Dumbledore's funeral, and not found for several weeks, until some Muggle backpackers called forth the police to a macabre scene. Ginny had been dead for a few days by then, but it had been a long struggle, full of pain and misery inflicted by her cruel captors. Harry's blood ran cold at the mental image, even though he had not heard about it until much later, and had never had a chance to pay his respects nor console her family, due to his commitments running about the country trying to save the world.

He wondered if they would become involved eventually this time around. Perhaps love is the ultimate force, as Dumbledore had often implied, that can withstand any barrier, alternate universe or no; and after all, Dumbledore was right more often than not, a cheerful Harry thought. At this, he drifted off to sleep, less burdened than he had been in many years.

A/N:

Hello again! Sorry about the amount of time between updates, but I promise more coming soon!

Yes, the story is evolving very well, and yes, it does have a definite direction to it.

I thank all who read, and all who review and include the story on their update lists and such. It is an amazing feeling to see the sheer number of times a chapter is read, and it definitely spurs me on to update more frequently! If you would like to Beta, or be a part of the team I am assembling for writing the story, do not hesitate to contact me. Your help would be appreciated, as with your input and advice. Thanks again!


	3. Chapter II: The Deal

Harry lay down on the sofa in the Dursleys' living room a couple of nights later, whilst the rest of the house slept. He was no longer afraid to come out of his room after dark; this newfound confidence stemmed from the fact that his torturous relatives did not appear to have the heart to berate him for any reason since his return from Diagon Alley with Hagrid. Harry was exceedingly glad for this, and took full advantage by making himself as comfortable as humanly possible.

He was momentarily distracted from his musings by the sound of a flushing toilet. Before he returned to the book he had been reading, however, he savoured the mental image of his skinny eleven year old self (to which he had not yet grown accustomed in the mirror) holding a tome the size of his entire torso, attempting to navigate its glossy pages. Harry laughed out loud at this; his giddy mood at a successful return had not yet dissipated from his mind.

It was with no small anticipation that he turned the pages of _Time Travel – A Dissertation on the Paradox_, and arrived at a chapter that seemed to be of universal importance to his quest. It read:

_Chapter XXVI: Circumventing the Grandfather Paradox by Virtue of Embodying an Already-Existing Entity_

_As previously discussed, the most efficient means for avoidance of paradoxal movements within the TS spectrum is that of inhabiting someone that has been active in that timeline up to the point in which our hypothetical traveller enters the alternate universe. However, the precise theoretical mechanism for this (if at all possible) is seldom studied and not fully recognised as anything more than ostentatious speculation. It is generally agreed upon, however, that such lateral motion would effect some changes in the novel, habitable universe by some unknown means. In other words, it is possible to reside in an already-existing body if and only if the new universe created as a result of time travel is at least somewhat different to the one that was left behind. _

_Learned wizards disagree on the extent of this change; some claim that the new universe will be virtually unrecognisable from the old one, whilst others believe that differences will only be observed in a minority of people and events due to the general pathways of material decay, whose role in thought is proven in Chapter V to be universal. _

***

The rest of the summer passed the world by in idyllic fashion, or so it appeared to Harry, whose main concern at the moment revolved around the appraisal of people who he remembered had been different in the last world. He did not know whether most of the disparities he detected were due to his own, skewed perceptions that came with being older than he had been when events had first taken place, or whether there were legitimate anomalies in this timeline.

In any case, Harry was worried on the last evening of August, as he was triple-checking his multifaceted trunk, and making sure that he had left nothing about the room haphazardly. It was disturbing to realize that he did not yet possess his Invisibility Cloak, nor did he have the Marauder's Map on his person, as had been the case for many years whilst at Hogwarts.

Most worryingly, Harry had no clue why neither Hedwig nor her cage had made an appearance in this timeline. This tore at his heart, for he had been greatly saddened by the fact that he had set Hedwig free in the last world shortly after Dumbledore's funeral, so that she need not have been burdened the trio as they launched themselves into the task of rounding up Horcruxes. However, he had anticipated a reunion; but his snowy owl was nowhere to be found. This spoke volumes of even graver things: perhaps Harry and Hagrid had not gotten along well when they had met, and the latter had not purchased Harry a present – maybe the gamekeeper was drastically different, or maybe absent from this world altogether. Irrespectively, Harry was loath to think that he may never see some of his friends again.

Harry was also supremely concerned about meeting the Weasley family for the first time, and actually staging introductions with Ron and Hermione (the three decided they could not act as though they had been best friends for seven years while everyone else was barely getting around to saying hello). He did not like to bestow upon himself the title of being inflexible, but there was no denying that Harry was deathly afraid of the changes that were soon to be upon him in a place as unexpected and unique as Hogwarts.

Harry, Ron and Hermione had also decided to take up subscriptions to the Daily Prophet, and other wizarding publications once at Hogwarts, so that they may be more in-tune with the occurrences of the times. All three were determined to not let anything pass them by without due scrutiny. But whilst Harry was at Privet Drive, he could do nothing but wait for the greater degree of freedom that Hogwarts afforded to him, and hope that his Cloak and the Marauder's Map would be in his possession in due time.

He was interrupted from his musings by a summons from below:

"BOY! Come here this instant," Uncle Vernon's voice bellowed.

"Coming," Harry replied, as he scrambled through the doorway and down the staircase, finally arriving in the living room.

"Sit, please," his uncle said in a pained voice, as though the feigned politeness hurt.

Harry obeyed, and smartly lowered himself onto the brown, luxurious sofa.

"Now, I remember you telling me something about King's Cross, and September first –"

"Yes, I have to be there at eleven in the morning, sir."

"Yes, well, how does that concern me?" Vernon inquired.

"Well, you've got to get Dudley's tail removed, right?" Harry said, making more of a statement than a query.

Uncle Vernon furrowed his brow at this, and the realisation hit Harry with the force of the Hogwarts Express (when running late) – Hagrid had never tried to transfigure Dudley!

"WHAT?"

Harry's mind was reeling; how was he supposed to salvage the situation?

"Joking, joking ..." Harry trailed desperately, in an effort to placate his uncle, who was quickly becoming agitated.

"WHAT TAIL?"

"No tail, I must've confused it for a dream ..."

To make matters worse, Vernon seemed to not trust Harry, so he called for Aunt Petunia, who called for Dudley, who was made to take off his trousers and have his bottom looked at by his two very distressed parents (and a Harry who was simultaneously amused at his slip-up and awed by the divergences that had already occurred and were beyond his control).

_But, I guess it's okay,_ thought Harry, as he glanced at his cousin's tail-free bottom, _so long as I get to the station on time tomorrow morning._

When the commotion at hand had ceased and a very embarrassed Dudley was allowed to take his leave, Harry turned back to his relatives with the intention of asking them to drive him. He found this would not be necessary when Vernon spoke:

"Petunia, would you please take Harry to London tomorrow?" he asked rhetorically. "You could also pick up that antique tea set you've been wanting ..."

At that, Petunia's eyes lit up, and she nodded earnestly at the offer Vernon had proffered. Harry was left wondering as to whether or not his aunt had been able to drive in the past timeline. He decided that it was irrelevant.

Just as Harry turned to leave, he was called back by his uncle, who was apparently not yet done quizzing him. "Listen here boy," he began. "I made Petunia drive you to London with the understanding that you will NOT be back here again until next summer. Yes?"

Harry was once again perplexed. That he would never be in Privet Drive unless it was expressly required of him had always been axiomatic. He wondered what had made Uncle Vernon think otherwise.

As he made his way upstairs, Harry felt uneasy with all of the small divergences that he had missed, and were pertinent to his interactions with others. The good news, he had to remind himself constantly, was that the greater history of man-and-wizard-kind had been virtually identical to the one he had known. Glancing through _Hogwarts, a History_ seemed to yield forth no noticeable changes from the other version. The same was said of all the history books Harry had had a chance to look at. But, for some reason, the little things, especially those that had occurred a short time before the older Harry's entrance, were dissimilar. He resolved to ask Hermione about this, and think no more on it for now, despite the lingering questions about his relationship with his relatives, and (potentially) Hagrid.

Upon checking his belongings one final time and making sure that he was ready for the year at Hogwarts, Harry showered hastily and went to bed, not yet fully in control of the anxiety that he associated with the first day of school in the new timeline. As a result of his giddy demeanour, he was not surprised when a Thestral stopped by his window and offered him a ride back to the old universe. Reticent yet overcome with curiosity, Harry accepted.

The Thestral flew through a kaleidoscope of colours and finally stopped in the present on another plane. There he saw images of misery – London in flames, Death Eaters wielding giant whips mercilessly above the enslaved Muggle masses; Harry saw Hogwarts, as he had never known it, overrun by evil, the Dark Mark consistently hanging just above the Astronomy Tower. He saw Lord Voldemort, smug and victorious, by the White Tomb. The Thestral landed in front of the Dark Lord, but he seemed to be oblivious to this, still deep in thought.

Harry dismounted, and began approaching the tomb.

"I know you're there, Potter. I can feel you," he said. "Where have you hidden from Lord Voldemort?"

But before he was even able to utter a response, the Dark Lord snapped out of his ponderings, and gave Harry a piercing look that chilled him to the marrow. He let out a soft hiss, and Harry found himself flying backwards in time, through his own memories...

First, he watched as Neville and a couple of other Aurors battled Death Eaters in a field in Anglesey, where the last of the Longbottoms would meet his end. Then, he saw the monumental protections that Umbridge had formed to guard her precious locket, and how Hermione had had to literally dismember the former Professor before the charms would let her retrieve the Horcrux. An image of a tortured Death Eater flashed by Harry, triggering the memory of when he and Ron had conducted interrogations on several wizards they had defeated in battle. Many more unsettling images of the Horcrux hunt flew by, all of them intense, all of them disturbing. Following an indeterminate length of time, Harry was pulled back to face Voldemort, who seemed to look through him, in the distance, and growl: "See Potter! Wherever you are, you already lost!"

Then, as in disgust, the Dark Lord pulled out his wand and slashed the air in Harry's direction, sending the latter plunging through the same kaleidoscope through which he had been transported earlier.

***

Harry awoke in a pool of sweat. To his immediate surprise, he realised that he understood precisely who and where he was, and why he had endured the nightmare, an uncommon occurrence ever since the epilepsy brought on by time travel had set in. Questions immediately began forming in his mind once again: was he having some kind of premonition, or had he discovered some form of contacting the world he had departed from? Was he dreaming of the future, or the unchangeable present of another universe?

_Hermione or no, I have to give Occlumency another shot_, he thought. _If not, I'll be having chats with Voldemort every night! And I'm not keen on finding out what it means, either._

Sighing deeply, and shaking his head slightly to get rid of the psychological aftertaste, Harry glanced at the alarm clock on his nightstand, which duly displayed the hour of five in the morning. Understanding that he would have to be up in a couple of hours, and marvelling at the apparent length of his dream, Harry lifted himself up out of bed and began to write a letter that he knew he would eventually have to send.

When the hour was seven thirty precisely, Harry lightened his trunk by magical means, knowing full well that once at Hogwarts, the Trace would be applied and he would no longer be allowed to perform spells in the Muggle world. He scanned his first ever item of correspondence in the wizarding world, hoping to send it off using a school owl once at Hogwarts. The letter read:

_Dear Mr. Lupin,_

_I know it must be a surprise to hear from me; my name is Harry Potter, and I am certain that you know me from when I was a baby. I recently found out your name through a friend of mine, called Hagrid, who showed me some pictures of the family I never knew. _

_As far as I know, you are the last friend of my parents' that I have. I would like to meet you, so that I start to make some connections to the wizarding world, and to my own past._

_I hope this letter finds you well. _

_Sincerely,_

_Harry Potter_

Although Harry thought that it sounded somewhat childish and unlettered, he had forced himself to rewrite it several times, so as not to seem too sophisticated for his age and raise the suspicion of his old friend, and to tell only the smallest lies which would reduce the likelihood of having to make uncomfortable explanations at some point in the future. Indeed, the paragraphs had taken him the best part of two hours to compose in such way as to make them plausible to Harry's condition, and to involve a story that would seem neither far-fetched nor maliciously dishonest to Remus Lupin, a man who had faced negative attitudes for most of his life.

Harry hoped that he and Remus would strike a good friendship, much as they had in the previous timeline, before Harry lost contact with most of the Order of the Phoenix, including all of his former Professors. The news of Remus' incarceration under the new Ministry laws, however, had reached Harry eventually, and he had always presumed the last of the Marauders died in captivity. _Here again_, thought Harry, _is a chance to give more people a better shot at life._

Shaking his head yet again to better clear it, he slipped the note inside his neatly folded robes, which were close at hand in his trunk, and heaved his still-fairly-cumbersome luggage down the stairs. Harry felt awkward sitting around Aunt Petunia, who exuded a sense of normalcy, at least by Dursley-like standards, with his bulky wooden trunk.

"At least I don't have Hedwig with me this time," he murmured as his relatives were bustling around the house in preparation for his aunt's trip to London. At eight o'clock precisely, he and Petunia marched outside, and climbed into the car. Harry was beginning to feel an anxiety building up inside of him. Questions abounded in his mind:

_Will Ron or Hermione let something slip? Will we seem suspicious? Will the Sorting Hat not be able to practice Legilimency on us, or will it see our past? _

And, of course, on queue: _How will Ginny look?_

The question about Ginny, though by no means the most urgent, seemed to concern Harry the most. Given the changes he had already observed, would Ginny, too, deviate from the person he had known? Would she grow up to become the woman Harry had been so drawn to?

Between Ginny and the old tricks the Sorting Hat might be up to, the journey to King's Cross Station seemed to take a matter of minutes, and before Harry knew it, he was being ushered out of the car by Petunia, who wanted to avoid the costly London parking and had pulled over on a side-street, inviting Harry to unload his trunk in no uncertain terms. Once the latter obliged, and was standing on the pavement, Petunia drove off with nary a goodbye.

Glancing at his watch, Harry realised he was a good thirty minutes early, and hoped to meet up with Hermione who was bound to have arrived with time to spare. The Weasleys, Harry thought, would almost certainly only make it in the nick of time, as they had always done. Harry hoped Hermione had not yet gone through the barrier, so that he may recreate his scenario with Ginny (which he remembered so well from the last timeline).

Harry went inside the station and found himself a well-positioned bench by Platform 9. Sure enough, Hermione turned up a couple of minutes later, accompanied by her parents, looking very much as Harry remembered "ickle Hermione"; she glanced at Harry, winked, and turned to her parents.

"Thank you so much for bringing me," she started. "But I really think it's unnecessary for you to take me to the platform – it's bound to be crowded and uncomfortable! Let's just say our goodbyes now where there's still room and you can be off..."

Harry sniggered.

_Leave it to Hermione to shoo away her parents in a gentle way_, he thought to himself.

After a painstaking couple of minutes, where Mrs. Granger embraced her daughter at least twenty times, they departed, leaving the two soon-to-be-Gryffindors on their own.

Hermione turned to Harry in a formal way, and said:

"Hermione Granger. Pleased to meet you!"

Guessing he was supposed to follow suit, Harry replied: "Harry Potter." Then, after reconsidering for a bit, he grinned smarmily. "And the pleasure's all mine."

The two then skipped the small talk, and delved into a few issues that had been plaguing Harry, speaking in low voices so as not to be overheard.

"Listen," Hermione concluded after a while. "The Hat cannot possibly do anything because your old memories are separate from your external mind, tied only to your magic."

"But if it DOES see them, we're done for, Hermione!"

"No – it can't prove anything! Dumbledore and Snape can try Legilimency and they won't see anything. We ARE eleven-year-old children, Harry, and everyone will think the Hat just went barmy."

"But the Hat's never wrong, even Dumbledore says he trusts it!"

"Nothing that makes an unverifiable claim is totally trustworthy!"

Harry drew in a lungful of air to continue arguing, but suddenly felt as if it had all been squeezed out of him. He did a quick double-take, to make sure that his eyes had not misled him the first time, but sure enough, the Weasley family was walking down towards the divide between Platforms 9 and 10, with Mrs. Weasley and _Ginny_ leading the pack.

He lifted his trunk, and made a beeline for them as Ginny was shouting something about Platform Nine and Three Quarters at her seemingly-forgetful mother. As soon as she was preparing to send Ron through, Harry caught his best mate's eye, and stepped in, feigning uncertainty and dismay.

"Hullo dear," Mrs Weasley began kindly. "First time at Hogwarts? Ron's new, too. You can go through the barrier with him. Best do it at a bit of a run if you're uncertain."

She finished with a motherly smile, but Harry barely noticed. His eyes were fixed on Ginny, who was looking back at him with genuine interest. Harry inclined his head in a way he hoped told her that they would chat on the other side of the barrier. With that, he and Ron (who was having a fit of giggles at seeing an infatuated eleven year old staring at a ten year old) walked through the divide, and enjoyed the otherworldly sensation that only entering the Platform with the knowledge of heading to Hogwarts could give.

Once there, Ron nudged him and they pretended to make small talk, to give the illusion of being at least mildly acquainted with one another. As Mrs. Weasley appeared with her daughter, Harry made a second beeline for them. As soon as he was within range, he introduced himself with a note of thanks:

"Thank you so much for helping me get through! I'm Harry Potter, by the way!"

Mrs Weasley smiled kindly, apparently unfazed at meeting the famous Harry Potter. She replied: "It was nothing, dear. I'm Molly Weasley, and this is my daughter Ginny..."

Harry could not conceal his grin when Ginny yelped and waved to him overenthusiastically for a second, before blushing furiously and looking the other way.

Mrs Weasley proceeded to point out Percy, Fred and George around the Platform, before adding: "... and I see that you and Ron have already made friends! Excellent."

With that, she gave Harry a pat and started gathering all her children for last minute instructions. Ginny seemed to escape this fate. So Harry looked at her and drew breath to speak, but she beat him to it:

"I can't go yet. Not till next year," she groaned.

"That's okay – I'll look forward to seeing you then!"

As they made for a light conversation, Harry could not help but be amazed at how similar Ginny looked to the girl he remembered in the Chamber of Secrets. Admittedly, she was less shy, but all of her physical features were in place for her to turn into the beautiful redhead she would become.

"... but I'm sorry I couldn't talk to you more. There's so much I wanted to ask you ..." she was saying.

Harry decided it was time to take action. "Oh no, don't worry. Ron and I are already friends, and I'm sure that I'll see you again sometime. Tell you what – just as you want to ask me things, I also want to know more about you. I have very few friends in the wizarding world, and I'll send you a letter sometime – we can always talk like that!"

At this, Ginny lit up. "Would you really? That would be great! I'll write you one soon, I promise!"

"Well then, Ginny, I guess I'll be hearing from you soon," Harry laughed, bringing up his hand to shake hers as her remembered was "ickle protocol" from ages past.

But before he could accomplish this, Fred and George bounced into view, having been sufficiently lectured on the consequences of blowing up another toilet seat, and slapped his hand aside jokingly.

"Yeah Ginny, we'll send along a Hogwarts toilet seat-" Fred said loudly.

"with one of Harry Potter's letters!" George finished.

Harry had to grin at the fact that the Weasleys all appeared to be just as he remembered them. Expressing this glee, he spoke cheekily:

"And I'll be sure to send you a faucet or two with the Hogwarts crest, Ginny!"

The twins snorted, and seemed to appraise Harry with a newfound respect in their eyes.

As the four of them stood about laughing, Ron and Hermione were two compartments away, becoming publicly acquainted for the benefit of anyone who cared to watch. Harry's mind flickered to images of spies and traitors from the previous war, and he decided then and there to be more prudent about having important conversations in public.

He was distracted by Fred, who was busy with a formal introduction to Harry:

"Ickle Harrykins, we're delighted to introduce ... ourselves! I'm Fred, and my twin brother over there's George!" he said jovially. Then, dropping his voice to a whisper, he beamed: "We're chief troublemakers at Hogwarts. But don't tell Mum!"

"Oh brother mine, she already knows. After all, we spread our fame to all corners of the great British Empire - even Mum! You'll see Harry!"

Harry had to laugh at the twins' antics, all the while trying hard not to remember the sinking feeling he had had when their deaths had been announced on Potterwatch a mere couple of weeks before the trio had travelled through time.

The twins and Harry went their separate ways, but not before Harry gave a delighted Ginny a knowing wave, and thanked Mrs. Weasley one more time. Then, he went and joined a waiting Ron and Hermione in a nearby compartment, lunging up the stairs of the Hogwarts Express with his trunk (the other two had already settled down inside).

Once he finally put it in the luggage compartment, Harry joined the other two, finally grabbing a seat and slouching in it, fully content with how the morning had gone.

Even when Draco Malfoy strutted in over an hour later, and introduced himself, expecting preferential treatment, Harry was unfazed. When Malfoy stuck out his hand this time after insulting Ron, (he was unaware of Hermione's blood status at the time) Harry took it.

"I'm sure we'll get plenty of time to talk once at Hogwarts. But there's no need to insult my new friends, either," Harry proclaimed coolly. "So if you want my friendship, you're going to have to drop some of the prejudices."

Apparently satisfied, Malfoy smirked and left the compartment without incident, taking a seemingly mute Crabbe and Goyle with him.

"I don't know why we have to appease him," grumbled Ron.

"Because he's still young. We can influence him for the better," countered Harry.

Ron shrugged. "I still don't see why, but I'll take your word for it. So long as he doesn't start insulting my family again. If he does, I'll-" Ron made a snapping gesture with his forearms that looked ridiculous on his small self, but would have been vicious given the nature of the lanky frame he would exhibit before long. Harry was amused by the discrepancies in how the trio carried themselves and their somewhat small stature. He grinned and slouched in his seat again, shaking his head in wonder at seeing miniature versions of his best friends in front of him.

Mere moments later, Harry thought he caught sight of a small, green object out of the corner of his eye. He stuck his head out of the compartment, looked around quickly, and, making sure nobody saw him, pulled out his wand and whispered, "Accio Trevor!"

The toad belonging to Neville Longbottom zoomed into Harry's outstretched hand disappointedly. Harry pocketed him, and did not have to wait long before a worried owner stumbled into the compartment, mumbling about a lost pet.

Harry had to be amazed. Neville looked a lot thinner than he had before, and was not nearly as downtrodden. Harry handed the struggling toad back, and was utterly shocked when Neville said:

"Thank you. Mom and Dad would kill me if I had lost him before even making it to school!"

The trio was flabbergasted. None of them had been prepared for this, but it was Hermione who recovered first, and invited Neville to take a seat, prompting general introductions and subsequent questions about his name and his parents.

Neville appeared to be at-ease talking about his family, and did not mention his Gran once, but instead spoke, at length, about his parents. At one point, he looked downcast and said:

"My parents have always told me stories about your parents, Harry. I just wanted to say I'm sorry for what happened to them."

Once again, Harry was stunned. The Neville he had known would never have made such a bold statement, out of mere shyness if nothing else. But the boy that sat before him was different – he was still clumsy Neville, but one who possessed a paradoxical air of happiness or at the very least contentment and self-assurance, all of which was moving and completely unexpected.

Neville took his leave soon after that, leaving behind a baffled Harry, who was on the receiving end of a very pointed questions from Hermione, who quickly applied privacy charms to the door of the compartment.

"Did you read about the Longbottoms at all?"

"Hermione, I was more bothered with the general history of the world. But no, I never knew that particular quirk of this timeline. It can't be bad though, can it?"

"Well Harry," blurted Ron, "this means you can make more friends – I'm sure the Longbottoms would be glad to hear from you!"

"Yeah. It just feels weird, you know? Writing to people I'd always thought were incapacitated."

"It's barmy, mate. But what can you do?"

With that thought, a concerned Harry closed his eyes in preparation for an hour or two of sleep. But Hermione would have none of it.

"Harry," she began. "Have you thought about what we should tell the Hat in case you're right, and it does read our minds?"

"Well," he replied. "We can always try to appease it, tell it we're not here to mess with the constants of the universe, or to create paradoxes. Only to make the world a better place."

"Well we should show it memories from the old timeline, so it can see how things turned out, and why we would want to avoid it this time."

"Yeah," Ron interrupted. "We could also ask for help, maybe. That wily Hat's too clever to not provide us with anything!"

The three were quiet for a long time, pondering the implications of informing the Sorting Hat of the true nature of their quest.

Too soon, it seemed, they were changing hurriedly in anticipation of the arrival at Hogwarts.

Too soon, it seemed, they were exiting the train, and Hagrid was beckoning the first-years over the boats by the lake.

To his relief, Hagrid pulled Harry aside, and shook his hand warmly, adding: "Nice ter see yeh, Harry. By th' way – yer new owl's up with the rest of 'em in th' castle. Might wanna pay her a visi', yeah?"

"Yes, thank you," he breathed with a sincere sigh of relief. Hedwig might be around for him, after all!

A minute later, Harry could not help but feel his spirits lift higher still at seeing the castle, safe and impregnable, for the first time in the new timeline.

_Hogwarts under siege or overrun by Death Eaters isn't the same,_ thought Harry.

But the worries that awaited seemed determined to arrive at an undue pace. Harry was nervous, as were his companions. Everything moved as if in fast-forward: the boats docking, people exiting and lining up behind the gamekeeper, the Deputy Headmistress opening the door...

Professor McGonagall was leading them to the waiting room before the Sorting.

The ghosts were performing their show, and Nearly Headless Nick was shouting something about Gryffindor while the Fat Friar pleaded on behalf of Peeves.

They were being shown into the Great Hall, and the Sorting began. Harry neglected to look around for any new faces, or drastic changes – he would first have to get through this. And too soon, Hermione's name was called out, and she walked forth nervously.

The Sorting Hat was on her head for at least three full minutes. Just as Harry was preparing for the worst, it roared: "GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry glanced back at Ron with a relieved smile. The table on the far left was cheering for their new addition, Hermione. Harry wondered if the tables had been arranged the same way on the day of his first Sorting.

The ceremony seemed to be taking an abnormally long time; the Hat could not seem to decide where to place anyone. Harry wondered if Hermione might have Confunded it for the purpose of escaping its scrutiny. As he explored this possibility, Harry heard his name called out.

He stepped up, and placed the Hat on. A split second later, a familiar voice sounded in his ear:

_Welcome back, Mr. Potter. I take it Mr. Weasley is in the same predicament as you?_

_Yes,_ thought Harry.

_I have to inform you that what you have done is extremely foolhardy. But you had no alternative. I shall make you an offer: in return for keeping your secret, I will inform the Headmaster of a desire to converse with you on a regular basis. The official reason for this will be to help you cope with the burdens of your fame. The real reason will be so that you may keep me updated on your progress, and so that I, in turn, can share my extensive knowledge of magic and matters of time with you, so that you may aid your friends in your quest. Do I have a deal?_

_Of course, _Harry thought fervently.

_Then I should really be placing you in –_

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Booming cheers came from the far left table yet again, and Harry rushed to join Hermione, who was saving two seats at one end of the Gryffindor table, close to Seamus, Parvati, Lavender and Neville, who had already been sorted.

"I made a deal with it," she whispered in his ear. "It wants to talk to you alone and promises not to spill anything!"

"I know, I agreed, and I know Ron will, too," Harry replied confidently. "But still – scary it could see into us, right?"

"Yeah, I just hope that Snape doesn't, too."

"But you said-"

"Shhh!"

Ron was called up to the Hat. He gulped, put it on, and was promptly declared a Gryffindor. He jogged happily to the table, joining his friends with relief.

"It told me that there's a reason the Sorting took so long, and that I should talk to you two," he said in an undertone. "It also wished me luck."

"Yeah," Harry replied. "It keeps our secret, but I have to have a chat with it every so often."

"Doesn't sound too bad," Ron smiled. "Anyway, enough of this now. All's well, right?"

"Too right," said Harry and Hermione together, as had become habitual on the long Horcrux hunt when spirits needed to be kept high.

Just then, Blaise Zabini was declared a Slytherin, and Hermione said: "No differences in students OR Sorting. I'm glad."

But before Harry had time to note this, Professor Dumbledore stood up, and the Great Hall fell silent.


	4. Chapter III: Metamagic

The Headmaster stood up, his arms spread wide open as if drinking in the scene of Hogwartian students and honoring the coming of a new year. Sighing loudly enough for everyone in the hall to hear, he spoke in a soft voice that carried across the ancient stone, all the way up to the enchanted ceiling so that everyone present in the Great Hall might hear:

"Welcome to some. Welcome back to others. Bon appetite to ... all."

With those words, as if by some immaculate timing, food appeared on the plates before the students, and everyone tucked in.

Hermione was still busily double-checking the presence of every Professor – from Snape and his greasy, neatly-parted hair, to Quirrell and his bizarre purple turban, and even Madam Hooch's peculiar eyes, the brunette witch wanted to make certain that all was in order before she indulged.

Ron, meanwhile, was following the flow of dialogue, mouth wide open, marveling at having been privy to almost an identical, and quite memorable, conversation many years before. It did not escape his notice, however, that Neville spoke of his parents, not his Gran, and told tales of humor and lightheartedness, not self-deprecating stories of clumsiness. Seamus and Dean, as far as he understood, were the same, but the Longbottom was drastically altered.

Harry simply ate. He knew that all the information he was required to process at any one time would either find him eventually, as was the way of the world, or be given to him by the Sorting Hat. His only concern was that he could not quite shake off the feeling of having missed something in his mind; indeed, Harry began to believe that he had forgotten something pivotal. Attempting to push this sentiment away, so as to better focus on his food, he realized (for the first time) that he was actually feeling the stress of having traveled back in time, and was consistently tempted by paranoia, after having been on the run for an entire year and having seen so many people die.

_Nothing I do about it at this table will change anything_ he thought to himself. _I have to enjoy what I can, else I'll go bonkers. _

Thus, with their own separate thoughts, three friends ate side by side, slowly becoming acclimatized to a new universe.

* * *

The trio gazed about at the halls of Hogwarts in mock amazement, as Percy led them up the multiple staircases, past an ever-mischievous Peeves, and finally into the Gryffindor tower. Their task was made doubly difficult by the sheer amount of sensory input that Harry, Ron and Hermione were trying to correlate to that of another reality. Indeed, it had been their explicit understanding that, in a new world where anomalies were not only possible, but expected, a constant vigilance with regard to diverging constants was required.

Once in their dormitory, Harry and Ron made a show of preparing to turn in for the night, participated in the regular exchanges of last jokes and goodnights, and disillusioned one another under the cover of darkness, and Ron's four poster hangings. Exchanging touch-coordinated signals, they tiptoed their way down the narrow staircase and into the Common Room.

The boys were positively frantic by the time Hermione descended, a full twenty minutes later, sounding murderous.

"Lavender and Parvati!" she spat. "Wanting to gossip about boys! We're _eleven_ for Merlin's sakes! They haven't changed an iota!"

Harry sniggered at this as he Disillusioned her; he did not see how Hermione could share a room with two giggly First-years without any sort of incident. He had not, however, expected friction this soon.

Ron, having learned not to express glee at Hermione's impatience, simply looked as though he had swallowed a particularly bitter potion of Madam Pomfrey's. This, Harry understood, was his way of imploding in gales of internal laughter.

"Let's be off, already!" Hermione said hurriedly. "We've still got to see Hedwig _and_ the house-elves."

"Hermione," Ron groaned. "I thought we were _through_ with the stupid elves! Didn't we decide we wouldn't want them to riot until _after_ You-Know-Who recruits the Dementors?"

"Yes, yes" Hermione began with exasperation, "but I wanted to make sure they have proper working conditions and the like."

"Look. Hermione," Harry said. "I'm with Ron on this one; we'll nick loads of food from the kitchens, so we can check up on the house-elves then. There's no point risking getting caught on our first night back, okay?"

He took the silence as a grudging agreement.

The three of them set off, slaloming through hidden tapestries and secret passages, on their way to the Owlery, occasionally tapping on the walls to make sure the group was still together, as they could not see each other in the darkness. Several uneventful minutes later, Harry stepped through the opening that led to the main chamber of familiars. Before he could register the presence of his own, beloved Hedwig, he heard an almighty screech from the rafters, and turned sharply to see a white mass floating towards him faster than he had ever seen it move before. Within a second, Hedwig had landed on his supposedly invisible arm.

"Hello girl! How did y-"

But before he could even complete his question, he looked into Hedwig's eyes and understood, right then and there, that she _knew._ Hedwig, aware of the sudden connection, put her head out towards his, and Harry, craning his neck forwards, made contact. At that moment, a barrage of images flooded his mind:

Hedwig flying away after Harry had set her free, being cared for by a morose-looking Mrs. Weasley, hunting mice in a burnt-down Burrow, dodging curses above the ruins of London, and (finally) being buried, at night, by Professor McGonagall, just behind Dumbledore's Tomb.

Before Harry had expressed any of this, Hermione looked in his general direction, panic evident in her tone of voice.

"Harry, what's going on?"

"It's Hedwig. She's, uh – showing me the – you know -"

"Nooo, I don't know. What is she showing you, mate?" Ron spoke towards the two of them.

"Images," replied Harry. "All sorts, from the other world. It ends with McGonagall digging her a grave behind Dumbledore's."

"Well, it was creepy, Harry," Ron said. "Your eyes were rolling around in the back of your head and stuff. I thought you were having a fit."

Absentmindedly, Harry began to stroke Hedwig behind her wing, not really understanding the message his familiar was trying to convey. Before he could dwell on this turn of events any longer, he remembered his secondary reason for the visit: Lupin's letter!

Harry removed the note from his robes and tied it to Hedwig rather shakily, still somewhat unnerved by what he had seen. But prior to further coherent thought on the matter, Ron spoke, a little higher than at any point that night:

"Look, let's go back. Disillusioning isn't that great a protection; we shouldn't have come out tonight. It was stupid!"

Hermione looked ready to protest this, as she had wanted additional time to snoop about the castle undisturbed, and to check if the Horcrux books were still conspicuously absent from the Restricted Section. Harry, however, readily agreed, and the trio set off once more, rapping their knuckles against the walls occasionally, until they had made it back to the Common Room, where Harry placated Hermione:

"Look – Hermione, we can just go to the Library another time, okay? We can't get into trouble for _browsing_ a book, even if it's restricted."

The brunette simply huffed and bade the boys a good night, hastily retreating up the stairs and (presumably) to her bed. Harry and Ron were still shaken, on the other hand, and had no intention of ending their day yet. They each sank into a cozy, fireside armchair, and tried to decipher what Hedwig knew and how she had sensed their presence. After three fruitless hours, they were forced to concede, if only temporarily, that there were many questions whose answers lay beyond their capacity to interpret the clues presented therein.

* * *

Tuesday morning, the trio lined up at the door of the Defence Against the Dark Arts class, in the hope of catching a detailed glimpse of their new professor. They had always assumed that this would be Quirrell, but they had not seen him at all since the Feast, and were beginning to doubt the stuttering servant of Lord Voldemort was significant in this timeline. Harry and Hermione were talking about the history of Hogwarts (as they would sometimes do within the hearing range of others) but their conversation was drowned out by a yelping sound that Ron emitted. They followed his horrified glare down the corridor, only to see Professor Quirrell walking towards them – sporting a shaved head!

The latter stopped when he reached Ron, and kindly asked him if he did not like the hairstyle, amicably remarking that he himself did not care for it much. With this, he invited the rest of the students inside the class. When everybody had settled down, he stood at the front of the assembly and began to speak in curt tones:

"Hello! My name is Quirinus Quirrell and I will be your Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor at Hogwarts. I am here to train you how to be better equipped at dealing with the dangers that you may encounter in your lifetimes. If you ever have any questions about me, or what we are going to be doing, please do not refrain from asking. Now, maybe we should start with introducing ourselves, since you are all First-years and are not well acquainted with one another just yet ..."

And so the lesson went. Truth be told, it was amongst the most enjoyable hours spent in the classroom. Harry and Ron agreed that Quirrell knew how to pass the time effortlessly, but Hermione was more suspicious; she did not want to risk letting her guard down with a man who had previously been known to actively aid the Dark Lord in his attempts to steal the Philosopher's Stone. The trio agreed to monitor the situation and not assume Quirrell's innocence for the time being.

Harry did receive some comforting news a couple of days later, as he was reviewing his Potions book in preparation for Snape's impending interrogation of him. Ron and Hermione had finally made the promised trip to the library, and gleefully reported that every section was virtually indistinguishable from the previous timeline.

"...and you should've seen Ron distract Madam Pince so I could sneak off into the Restricted Section! He was really great."

This comment hurt Harry a little bit. Ever since his two best friends had begun dating in the previous timeline, they had abstained from showing excessive affection around him. But the mere thought that Ron and Hermione were free to pursue a relationship in the new world, whilst he, Harry, had to start from scratch where Ginny was concerned, made him feel empty in more ways than one. Now that Hermione was openly praising Ron (an incident rarely witnessed in times long gone), Harry felt more alone than ever, despite having more company than he had ever thought possible during his first childhood.

Shaking off the morose feeling, Harry gathered himself as Hermione was trying to hold his attention for a second piece of news:

"...Harry, are you listening to me?" she asked rather rhetorically.

"Yeah. Yeah, I am. What's up?"

"Ron – tell him!"

"Uhh. Okay – so Hermione and I have been scanning the Prophet and all sorts of other publications, and there's been no sign of any break-in at Gringotts!"

"Great – this means the Stone is safe, right?" asked Harry.

"Yeah, it does," began Hermione. "Furthermore, Ron and I checked Fluffy's old classroom this afternoon. And we walked in on a Seventh-year study group. You know what this means, right?"

"Hermione. This is Harry we're talking to, not bloody Goyle so you have to explain things line by line!"

"Okay, fine. I'm just making the point that the Stone is probably still with Flamel!"

"Or, worse yet," said Harry. "We have no clue where it is. Voldemort could be using it to -"

But Harry had stopped right there when he noticed a distracted-looking Percy glance his way when the Prefect caught wind of Voldemort's name. For an instant, Harry was sure he was in for a lecture, but the eldest Hogwarts-attending Weasley just shrugged and went back to his homework.

However, the beginning of Harry's idea, which was understood by both Ron and Hermione, put a damper on the rest of the evening.

* * *

Friday morning found Harry in a flurry of excitement. He and Ron were eager for their Potions lesson and Snape's reaction to Harry's seemingly-advanced knowledge of the subject. They bounded down to breakfast, purposefully losing their way about the castle so as to keep up appearances. Hermione, as expected, was nowhere to be seen, since the trio had decided it would be better to become separated, if only for a few hours at a time, so as to deepen other connections.

As such, Harry and Ron sat with Neville that morning. The pleasant conversation with their friend took a bizarre turn when Draco Malfoy rose from the Slytherin table and strode over, carefully placing himself in the seat next to Neville, facing Harry and Ron.

"Hello, there. Longbottom, is it?" he asked amicably.

"Yes, it is," replied Neville evenly, not really sure how to handle the new arrival.

"Draco Malfoy," he blond boy said, holding out his hand for Neville to shake.

Harry and Ron exchanged looks darkly, certain that Malfoy was having them all on.

This notion, however, was dispelled when their former archnemesis turned to them, drew a deep breath as if in preparation for something, and began talking:

"Lads – I've been thinking about my behavior on the train. I wanted to say that I'm sorry for the way in which I acted and want to ... um ... turn a fresh page, as it were."

He finished without much conviction, but seemed legitimately sorry; indeed, Harry thought it was downright pathetic, to see a miniature Death Eater stumbling over his words in apologizing to friends from a different House (a feat that the other Malfoy would have been incapable of contemplating, much less executing).

Ron looked to Harry, unsure of how to handle such a sharp turn of events. In a split-second decision, Harry figured that he was better off making the small mistake of falling victim to one of Malfoy's jokes than the monumental error of rebuffing a potential ally and failing to induce such a positive change in the new timeline.

"No problem, mate," he said. "It's as good as forgotten. We'll be seeing you in Potions this morning, yes?"

"Mmhmm. I wonder what old Snape'll have us do," Draco speculated. "Him and my dad were together at Hogwarts, but I think he looks strict. Wouldn't cross him to save my skin."

With that, the Malfoy heir got up and left, striding back to the table and sharing a word with a puny-looking Pansy Parkinson before departing for the Dungeons.

"Weird, huh?" laughed Neville. "Always wondered what he was about."

"Yeah," replied Ron. "Downright fishy, if you ask me. What'd you reckon – is he having us on?"

"We'd do well to watch him, and see," Harry said wisely. "It's what Dumbledore'd do."

At that very instant, a collective gasp was heard from the Great Hall, and a hundred owls soared in, delivering various packages and parcels.

Two snowy owls swooped down on the Gryffindor table. One dropped a heavy envelope in front of Neville, and the other, which turned out to be Hedwig, delivered a note to Harry, standing by for a response.

Having been ready for such an event, Harry pulled out the quill that Ron had proffered as soon as he had spotted Hedwig. Turning over the note, just to make sure, he read Hagrid's untidy scrawl, inviting him to tea that afternoon.

"Yes, please – would – be – great," Harry read out loud as he wrote a reply to Hagrid's long expected invitation.

"Finally – I'll get to meet Hagrid! Always liked him, I did," Ron said.

Harry made a sudden movement, but realized it was too late – Neville had heard.

"Ron – what did you say?" he asked.

"Um – I said that – what I meant to say – was that my parents know Hagrid, but – I've never met him. They said good things about him, so I feel like I know him already, y'know?"

"Yeah, yeah. It's like with your parents, Harry! Mine have always said nice things about them, I almost feel like I know them!"

Harry winced at Neville's comment, but appreciated it greatly nonetheless. He was further surprised as Neville said:

"Oh – and my mom asks if you're adapting to the wizarding world alright, and if you need anything," Neville said, distractedly reading the note in the big envelope and most likely wondering if it had contained anything else.

"Oh yeah. I'm doing really well, actually, thanks," said Harry, visibly touched by Mrs. Longbottom's concern for him.

_Then again, _though Harry, _my parents were good friends with the Longbottoms – so it makes sense that Neville's mum has taken an interest in how I'm doing._

"By the way, Harry, I didn't know you had a Snowy owl – when'd you get her?"

"This August, from Diagon Alley, it was a present from Hagrid."

"Yeah – Hagrid's a good egg," Neville informed Ron, who seemed surprised at the level of acquaintance that the round-faced boy implied where Hagrid was concerned. Sensing this, he added: "Of course, we've known him for ages – had him round for Christmas one year, where he drank a couple buckets of wine and wound up ..."

But Harry was no longer listening. He was happy, yet oddly sad, to hear of the friendships of the Longbottom family and think of all the sorrow that the Lestranges had caused in another lifetime.

After breakfast, Ron pulled Harry behind one of the tapestries and was obviously eager to share a word. Putting on all of their privacy charms, he inquired:

"Harry – have you given any thought to Quidditch?"

"Ron, that's really not important right now -" Harry started, slightly angry at Ron's obsession with the sport.

"Uh – yeah, it is, mate! Imagine of the changes in the timeline if you _don't _get on the team! And this time round, Neville seems a bit sturdier than before. I don't think he and Malfoy will fight it out over the Remembrall, which Nev doesn't even need anymore!"

"I don't really know what to -"

"-_that _is why Hermione and I figured we should tackle this issue on our own – since you were the only one involved! This is what we -"

"- hold it!" hissed Harry, his feelings oddly hurt. "You mean – you and Hermione have been talking searching for answers without me?"

"Only in things where you were the only one involved last time! Apparently, you – um what was Hermione's way of saying it? – lose your impartial judgment in singular distinctions of the past, or something batty like that."

Harry began glancing about them shiftily, noting they only had ten minutes to get to Snape's class, and trying to process his friends' reasoning all the same.

"Hermione built the following theory, which I'm supposed to present to you this morning -"

"Wait – why only you?" asked Harry.

Ron sighed resignedly.

"Because she feels you contradict her too easily. DON'T ... please don't go all crazy on me, Harry, I'm only the messenger! Besides, you _have_ been kind of bleak in providing your responses to her thoughts recently. And you know Hermione – she needs feedback, conversation, debate et cetera!"

Deciding to attempt to transcend an impulse of jealousy and outrage he had rarely been confronted with, Harry let it slide and sought out to hear the theory she and Ron had been cooking up.

"Okay, Ron, it's okay. I guess I might've been a bit on the quiet side," conceded Harry with a grin. "What's the theory?"

An obviously relieved Ron began to talk in reply:

"Well – this is what we think. There are two major possibilities. One, your participation in Quidditch was a fluke the first time, so it won't matter whether or not you make it on the team. In this case, you'll just take flying lessons with us until next year, where you'll make the Quidditch team for sure, cause of your _amazing _skill!"

Ron paused for breath here, and it was obvious to a somewhat amused Harry that point two was likely the jewel in the crown of Hermione's thoughts.

"Two – a different event will happen that will _force_ this reality to chuck you into Quidditch team – but we don't know if this involves McGonagall, or Neville or Malfoy or anyone. But, the universe will just, like, conspire for it to happen."

"That's cool," Harry grudgingly admitted. "But we'll think on the possibilities later – let's try not to be late for Snape, aye?"

"Good thinking. I always hated that biased, slimy f-"

* * *

Harry, Ron and Hermione sat in the Potions classroom, nearly giddy in anticipation of Snape's line of questioning. They were extraordinarily disappointed when the instructor merely ticked a small box next to Harry's name on the register without even announcing it to the class.

The trio looked at one another, stunned.

"Do you think it's different?" Harry whispered to Hermione, deeming his inquiry safe even if he were to be overheard.

"Mr. Potter, that's one point you've lost Gryffindor before the lesson has even begun," came a curt voice belonging to the Potions Master.

Professor Snape proved to be no better the second time around. True – he had not embarrassed Harry as badly, but had wound up deducting him four points over the next hour and a half, all for a variety of minor offenses, which included coughing too loudly, making too much noise whilst taking notes and excessive shifting in his seat.

Instead of the racing thoughts that had plagued him last time, Harry left the Dungeons that day feeling distinctly amused about the fact that he had ever been intimidated by a man so at odds with reality.

_Now if only I could figure out whether or not he's a Death Eater_, Harry thought.

* * *

Tea at Hagrid's Hut was just as Harry remembered it – pleasant, yet hard on the teeth. Headache-inducing rock cakes aside, the trio was successful in setting up a foundation with the gentle half-giant that would hopefully evolve the same as it had in the previous timeline.

Hagrid was very happy to note that Harry had already made friends, and went out of his way to make certain that Ron and Hermione were well fed and watered. A couple of hours in, he had begun to tell tales of Charlie and Bill, as well as James Potter and Lily Evans. Whilst Harry was already acquainted with all of the stories at hand, he was very glad to hear Hagrid tell them with the warmth and fondness he had always been reputable for.

When the sun set, Hagrid bade them all a good night, reminding them to be sure to stop by the Great Hall for dinner (in a very Mrs. Weasley way) and said:

"An' be sure to bring Neville 'round, too, next time!"

Harry, Ron and Hermione were all too happy to comply with that request, and vowed to make it happen as the departed.

As they were happily discussing this over dinner, a school owl swooped over Harry, dropping a small note in his lap. Unfolding it, he realized that he had always recognized that loopy, slanted script. It read:

"Mr. Potter.

The Sorting Hat would like to see you tonight for an introductory session. Kindly present yourself in my office at eight thirty, sharp.

Albus Dumbledore"

"Oooo, Harry, this is going to be great!" Hermione enthused. "It might really help us out!"

"Yeah. Well. We'll see," said Ron darkly. "I don't trust the Hat with all of ... everything."

Harry, however, remained stoic. He had been feeling slightly nervous recently, but could not really define the uneasiness that seemed to plague him.

He decided to be courageous, nevertheless, and not let it show. So, at eight twenty, he departed from the Common Room, feeling as though he was headed to the gallows, and not towards a probable ally.

Time began to blur as he paced about in front of the stone gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore's office; Harry felt eager yet anxious, and he could not determine whether he just wanted the moment to pass quickly, or to linger so that he may learn many things from it.

He drew a lungful of air and, as he stepped forward, the gargoyle leapt aside and permitted him entry. A short staircase later, he grabbed the elaborate knocker on the tall double-doors and announced his presence.

A springy footstep and a half, a muffled sound and the door opened to reveal the Headmaster, in pale fuchsia robes, peering at Harry through the piercing blue eyes and half-moon spectacles that had always graced the aged face so naturally.

"Mr. Potter! Come in, come in."

He pulled the door wide open and stepped back grandiosely, making Harry feel like an exaggerated version of a prince as he was ushered inside.

"Now. There are so many things I wish to inquire of you," Dumbledore said. "But alas, I cannot, since you are here for another purpose altogether. Nonetheless, let me assure you that, if ever I can be of any help, I will gladly provide it if you all but ask."

He finished with a smile, and Harry was eerily reminded of another famous adage: _help at Hogwarts will always be given to those who ask for it_. He wondered vaguely if the phrase still applied in the new timeline, and if Dumbledore's generous offer was the embodiment.

"Thank you, Professor," Harry smiled. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind next time I'm having trouble understanding things."

The Headmaster laughed outright, and put out his hand, holding Harry gently by the elbow and steering him towards a small annex, in which he presumed the Sorting Hat was located. He paused, his aged hand on the doorknob.

"I believe you are familiar with the workings of the Hat. Slip in on your head, have your chat and take it off at the end. You may leave it on the chair inside. I think it needs a good nap anyway!"

"Yes sir. Thank you."

"Good luck, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore murmured, opening the door and allowing Harry to step into the small room.

Despite the restrictive space, the annex was highly comfortable. It contained a large armchair, on which the Sorting Hat was currently plopped, and a whole line of candles on the periphery, which were the only apparent sources of light. As the door closed behind him ever-so-gently, Harry picked up the Hat and sat down, looking at the magical object very curiously.

Seeing no legitimate method of procrastination, Harry simply sighed and put the Hat on his head. Then, a soft voice began speaking into his ear:

"Mr. Potter. What a unique young man you are! You risk your life, not to mention the rest of the universe, to come back in time and save a life here and there! Well, I know I should really be turning you in, so there's no chance you'll do damage to _this _world, but I think you have the capacity to do more good than harm. As long as you don't disprove my statement, you get to keep your freedom, and do as you please with regard to the Dark Lord.

"You may be wondering why I wish to speak with you so ardently. The fact of the matter is that I, too, much prefer the world you are attempting to create to the one that you ran from. So I will aid you on your way, and share my knowledge of many abstract matters with you. Do you understand everything I have told you?"

_Yes._

"Then are you ready to begin with a short session on the mind?"

_I guess so._

"Good. Let me put it bluntly, Mr. Potter. You have incurred a slight amount of brain damage in attempting to travel backwards. Your friends share this fate. However, the good news is that it does not impair your functionality, but rather only your range of thinking. You have forgotten about some very important factors, Mr. Potter. And it appears that being damaged in the same way has rendered your friends incapable of reminding you.

"For today's session, I think it will be sufficient for us to play a bit of word-recognition, and for me to give you some questions to ponder for next time. Agreed?"

_Sure, if that's what you think is best._

"I do, indeed. First word: Sirius Black."

Harry's mind was suddenly crippled under the pressure. He could remember the name, but it was as though he had known a face that he could relate in another lifetime. As he was shaking his head from side to side, attempting to clear it, the Hat began to emit a low, whistling sound that soothed Harry. It felt a little as though he was on the verge of entering a trance when, just as suddenly as it had begun, the whistling stopped, and Harry remembered everything.

His first impulse was to feel ashamed of himself, for having forgotten about his Godfather, who was rotting away in Azkaban unjustly. Before he could complete the thought, however, the Hat intervened:

"Don't worry. What you have undergone is normal. It's up to me to open new avenues in your mind, and thus remind you of certain factors. Unfortunately, I cannot do this too often, or you might lose your mind from the stress.

"Oh, and by the way, expect some mind-bending headaches tonight. Kindly allow me to set you two tasks before I let you go:

"The first of these is to do with the potency of the universe. You have already correctly assumed that there is an elevated likelihood of experiencing various anomalies in your dealings with this new world. The fact that you are aware of this may give you powers that those of this universe are not capable of. For instance, I believe that, through the power of your mind and mine, we can propel you back to the old universe for a short period of time. The task I am assigning you is this: confer with your peers, and figure out what good you can draw from spending a bit of time in the world you ran away from. It is my belief that you may be able to uncover a great number of things from this kind of trip. Note also, that it would be risk-free, since you are already presumed dead, and hunting for you and your friends will not be of high priority in the old world, so to speak."

_Well, maybe it would be ..._

"No, Mr. Potter, not now. These are matters you have to take some time to pore over. I shall speak with Professor Dumbledore and set up an appointment next week. Who knows, maybe he will even permit you to keep me in your dorm during the year.

"In any case, my second point is slightly more abstract, and is a conjecture based on the first theorem. Since you have inherited a capacity to influence the universe through your actions, it may very well be that you can also bend the rules of this new universe through your magic. You will require a lot more teaching, and an intense study of ancient runes and mathematics. This conjecture is not easily proven, however, and I have no clue as to how effective you can become at this theoretical "metamagic", so to speak, if you can even grow to master it. Go to Hermione and ask her to look up research in the field of metamagic. See what you can learn from this, and we shall speak again next week.

"Do you have any questions?"

_Well – I don't think I fully understand metamagic. What can I use it to do?_

"That, I am afraid, I do not know. Speculation is rife amongst learned wizards. Some say you will have ultimate power over the matters of life and death. Others believe that you will learn the secrets of the universe, or perhaps be able to transform yourself into anyone or anything. But a lot more research is necessary before we can conclude anything concretely."

_I see. Thank you for the help. I'll be sure to ask Hermione, and come back whenever you call me._

"Good luck, Mr. Potter!"

With that, Harry removed the Hat and placed it back on the chair, quickly leaving the room. Since Dumbledore was no longer in his office, Harry let himself out and trudged back to the Common Room, his headache growing by the minute.

An hour later, after sharing all of his findings with Ron and Hermione (who perked up at the mention of metamagic almost instantly), the three decided to get some sleep and nurse their impending migraines. As Harry and Ron settled in to their respective beds, Ron leaned over and whispered:

"Oh, Harry. I nearly forgot. Hedwig brought you a letter from Ginny! I left it on your nightstand."

"Thanks, Ron," replied Harry, his dull pain receding for a second as he contemplated reading it, before realizing that he was in no fit state to deal with more emotions.

"I can't believe we forgot about poor Snuffles," Ron yawned, clearly on the verge of sleep.

Harry wanted desperately to reply, to say something illuminating and comforting about his Godfather and how they would see to it that he would be proven innocent. But before he could vocalize the slightest syllable, he slipped into an agitated sleep.


End file.
